The joys (and desperation) of raising a boy without a man

Cold and Wet Nights

When I think about the last 5 years of my life I remember it hurt. The memory of it hurts.

The guilt and the shame can be hard burdens to carry.

The rain that falls doesnt wash away the memories and bad feelings. Instead it brings ashore all I wish to forget.

It’s during cold and wet nights that the feeling of despair creeps up like a ghost that you can’t see but who makes every hair in your body stand up.

I don’t miss him necessarily. I don’t even miss us. But I miss the company. I miss the weight of his body warming me up. I miss the attention he showered me with. I miss the “I love you” every night as he adjusted his sleepy body next to mine.

Now I hear nothing. It’s brutally empty even though I am not alone. The distance is obvious, although I try hard to close the gap, unsuccessfully.

It’s during cold and wet nights that feelings of loneliness become even more palpable, reminding me that no matter how I much I lie to myself, I am still alone.

The battle to get him to see me is endless; His eyes focused on the rearview mirror.

The desire to continue is slowly being overtaken by the sadness of my own limitations and inability to make him stop chasing ghosts. Even though all I want is to untie him from his past.

It’s during cold and wet nights that our souls are washed and spirits replenished. As we sit alone we realize we can conquer the dark and the fears it brings. And it’s in the dark that we Learn to accept our defeats.

At some point our bodies exhaust and our feelings wear out.

It’s during cold and wet nights that we learn that letting go is not quitting.